Le Bernardin: A Kitchen Winter Wonderland

I leave my heated cozy apartment this crisp Saturday morning and head for work in what I think is an appropriate outfit. But no. I’m stopped at the front door by the conceirge:

“Amy, Amy, Amy – you cannot wear that, you’re going to freeze”.

“Really? But it doesn’t look that cold?”

“It’s going to snow today.Seriously, put on a heavy coat at least” he says shaking his head at my obvious lack of common sense.

“It wasn’t that cold yesterday…hmmm…okay…I’ll be back…”

I change quickly piling on layers and, this time, pass the inspection test. But now I’m running a little behind so I hail a taxi who immediately takes me the way I tell him not to take me. It doesn’t matter, his taxi is heated and I’ve already committed. Besides I want to get to work early. And the conceirge was right. It’s freeeeezing.

I love being first in the kitchen. Love it.

I’m never truly first in because Pastry is always set up way ahead of us. But, to be first in on the cuisine side of the kitchen is magic. To own all that shiny stainless steel and be the person to light up all the burners and fuel all the ovens. I love that. Love it, love it, love it.

I suppose in some ways it’s like walking into Notre Dame or the Sistene Chapel and having the whole place to yourself. Just for a second of solitude in a place of worship.

Before the continual fight for burner space starts up, before the stress starts to trickle into my veins over being set up in time, before chefs come by tasting my mise en place and giving their opinions, before tickets fly in and orders are shouted out and plates are rushed to the passe and, and, and…

Just alone in the kitchen.

But this Saturday is special because it’s my second to last Saturday. I have finished my contract to stay through the busy holiday season and given my official notice. And we all know that when you give the mandatory two weeks notice everything changes: black looks white, frowns turn to smiles, pain turns to bliss, weeds come up roses. And you wonder why you decided to leave.

C’est la vie.

But I have decided to leave because I’m missing something: friends and family. I love cooking. I can’t imagine life away from the kitchen. But I think there has got to be a way to balance it. Perhaps that means running my own kitchen and creating the environment I want to work in with the team I want to work with. Perhaps it means being able to foster people’s talents while learning with them and from them at the same time. Or perhaps it means something else. I’ll know more in a few weeks…

But it’s Saturday, the second to last Saturday, and now the other entrée cooks have started to trickle in gathering equipment and ingredients. Sleepy hellos are exchanged. One of the other entrée line cooks slips me some homemade Christmas cookies, a pastry cook leaves me some tasty petitfours on my cutting board, the barista has made fresh coffee and I’m back in business. Sugar-caffine high galore.

I breeze through my morning mise en place. We don’t serve lunch on Saturday so setting up can be stressful without the morning team to prepare everything. But since I’ve worked the Monk Station in the morning the routine comes back naturally.

I grab two hotel pans from the dishpit, one large bain, one small bain, several mixing bowls, five 6-pans, two 9-pans, a rondeaux, a small sauce pot, a large stock pot, and a cutting board.

I put my potatoes on to simmer for my senusously smooth pommes purée, I get my water on to the boil for my halibut poaching liquid, I cut ten heads of garlic and three nubs of ginger and sweat them for my daikon braising liquid. I cut romaine lettuce tips to blanch, trim tiny honjumanji mushrooms, chiffonade mint and parsley, clean mini radishes and turnips, slice green onions two different ways for two different dishes, cut corn off the cob and clean leeks for my corn canolloni, and slice daikon on my mandolin then punch it out into perfect circles with a ring mold.

After I’ve finished all my cut work I start to put everything together. I peel the potatoes and pass them through a ricer then through a drum seive. I make a large batch of roux and mix it into my boiling water with a hand mixer that’s half the size of me (I call it ‘The Beast’) adding orange juice and vermouth for a little extra kick.

I blanch my romaine lettuce, leeks, radishes, and turnips. I purée my fresh corn and mix it on the stove top with butter and parmesan, let it cool, add herbs, and pipe it into my blanched leeks rolling it up like cuban cigars. I strain my daikon braising liquid, add the daikon rounds, and let them simmer until tender. I make ponzu sauce and truffle butter. I gather plates for the line. And Finally I’m set up! It takes me five hours.

It takes me five minutes to write about it and five hours to actually complete it.

Saturday is always pizza day and the new sauté cook has been more than appeasing the hungry masses. In fact his family meals have become too good – there is hardly anything left over for the people who can’t wait in line.

He puts the pizzas on the passe and a swarm gathers around ready for the offical “Food’s up everybody!” call before they dive in. Within minutes the pizzas are demolished. But, he has saved a few slices for the entrée line. Call it senior cook privilege or whatever, I don’t care, we don’t have time to stand in line. And why should we? We’re the senior cooks.

I know, that sounded awfully pretentious…

The first seating starts off and it’s fun. When I say fun I mean we’re getting our asses kicked but maintaining a humorous positive outlook. With two sauté cooks working the fire, I’ve got my girl Kendra next to me slinging heavy cast iron pans like they’re cotton candy on sticks. And I know she’s going to time it right so I don’t get all the fish at the same time.

She knows if I’m plating a monk fish and a striped bass if I get both at the same time then one will end up over cooked. I can’t slice the monk and simultaneously finish the stripe bass plate. I love her for it.

But orders are piling up quicker than I can get the plates ready. With two sauté cooks on the line the fish is coming out faster and faster and I’m still only one person slicing, poaching, and plating. A sous chef arrives to the rescue and we’re running up and down the line to the passe with plates and sauces like two people walking (running) on hot coals.

One hundred covers flies by and finally it’s the lull between the second and first seating. Great, I can replenish my mise en place that is completely wiped out…

Mais non! The Chef – I mean the Chef – wants to change an item in my mise en place. One that is time consuming. He wants the hand cut wedge potatoes that go with our Kobe beef dish to be changed from Idaho spuds to Yukon gold. This is not normally on my mise en place list, but there is no way in hell I’m going to say so. The only answer to the Chef’s requests are: yes, Chef!

Of course my inner thought is: really? Are you sure you don’t want to make that change on Monday when it’s a bit slower and the morning cook has the time to actually cut them? And I don’t have a thousand things I really need to do at this particular moment? Going to the bathroom being one of them!?!?!

I run down to the dry storage room and begin punching out wedge potatoes. But the puncher is not properly oiled and it’s been reassembled badly. I half want to kick the blasted thing across the room, but fear I’ll loose a toe in the process. To make matters worse the yukon gold potatoes are small and I’m only getting one good wedge per potato. No matter, I cut thirty potatoes and get thirty wedges. I save the scraps for City Harvest, a company that feeds the hungry in Manhattan.

I get my wedge fries on to simmer – and they must simmer gently or they break – and the second seating starts up. I’m still trying to roll more corn canolloni, blanch more romaine lettuce, and generally clean my station in between the first few orders. Not fun. I hate playing catch-up on a busy evening.

But the second seating is not as bad as the first. The tables are timed better and the rush is hard but not impossible. Word gets out that tables have cancelled because of the weather.

The weather? What weather?!?!? What’s going on out there?!?!? Servers come back with the news: it’s snowing! It’s snowing!! It’s snowing!!!

An hour passes and my wedge fries are cooked. The Chef (the Chef) tastes one after I pop it in the deep fryer and salt it. I place it, like a golden orb, on a porcelain plate for him to cut into. The thought of handing it directly to him would be unthinkable. He cuts into it, thrusts his fork into a bite size morsel, holds the morsel up to inspect and study rotating his fork slowly to catch all angles under the fluorescent lights, pops it in his mouth, and chews slowly.

I watch.

He begins to nod his head while still in the process of chewing and swallowing. He points to the remaining morsel and says, “Yes, this is it! This is it!”

Relief. I have passed the wedge potato test.

Who knew a wedge potato could cause so much anticipation? It’s a potato for crying out loud. (But a damn good one.)

The third seating always takes me off guard. I look at the clock and we’re still sending out amuse bouches at 11:00 P.M. How can this be? I’m personally closed for business (mind shut down, exhausted, delirious from the heat, total mush pot) but somehow these people are hungry enough to order tasting menus at this late hour. Who are these people and don’t they know the evening is over?!?!

My mise en place is, once again, seriously depleted but I play the game of Russian roulette than all cooks play at the end of the evening, the: will-I-have-enough game. And no, it’s not because I’m lazy and don’t want to make more, it’s about not wasting product that will just get thrown out at the end of the evening.

Okay, you’re right, maybe it’s a little bit of laziness too.

The other game at our restaurant (we have so many games we play) in order to avoid being blamed for running out of something is to make sure one of the chefs knows about it. Then it’s their decision over whether or not to make more. I have found through trial and error if you skip this step you always get burned. It’s the: pass-the-responisbility game. Also called: passing-the-buck.

He tastes, approves, then if the Executive Chef doesn’t like it I get to say: “But the sous chef tasted it and liked it…”

Or for my mise en place I”ll say:

“Chef, I have 45 corn cannelloni rolls, do you think that’s going to be enough?

And he’ll say, “I don’t know, let’s roll with the punches and see what happens.”

Then if I run out, we’ve already had this little conversation about it, so I don’t get yelled at – or worse – sent home for making a stupid error. All the cooks have become expert at this game.

Two tables are left on the board and I’m running low on my turnip ginger foam. This foam is shot through a canister loaded with nitrous cartridges so it’s impossible to actually see how many orders are left. I lift the canister and give it a shake trying to judge just how many pumps I might be able to get out of it. Not many.

And the third seating rush makes it impossible to quickly whip up another batch. The garde manger staff is finishing for the night and I ask one of the cooks to set up a blender at my station and cut some turnips and ginger to quickly cook off and purée.

He cuts the wrong turnips – the small white ones – and I send him back to find the big purple and white two-tone turnips. This time he returns with a watermelon radish that is expertly peeled and diced.

The Executive Sous Chef comes down the line and in his French accents asks, “Amee, what ahre you do-ing? Focus on your dishes s’il vous plaît.”

“Desolée (sorry) Chef, I think I’m almost out of turnip foam and I don’t know if I have enough to cover the board.”

“Forget it, there are two tables left, we’ll use the turnip purée from the Saucier station if we have to and blend it with some blanched ginger…”

And sure enough two monk fish tasting plates are fired. I slice the monk, plate it, and garnish it with tiny mushrooms and micro chives. I run the hot plates to the passe. Then run back to pour my sake broth into one gooseneck and squeeze my turnip foam into another.

The foam canister sputters it’s last breath. I’m screwed. With fish on the passe and a server ready to carry the tray into the dining room I feel as if the boat has begun to sail away and I’m still at the dock with my luggage…

The whole entrée line pitches in. The Saucier gets some of his turnip purée on to simmer, I take the blanched ginger I’ve prepared and throw it in, we quickly dump everything into the vita prep mixer and buzz it, the Executive Sous Chef tastes it, I pour it into a fresh canister and the sauté cook recharges it, I squeeze the foam into a gooseneck and run it to the passe, and the server whips away the finished tray.

The boat has sailed and I’m on board…

It’s 12:30 A.M. and the kitchen staff is polishing the stainless steel, bringing loads of pots and pans to the dish pit, and throwing away left over mise en place while the entrée line is finishing the very last plates. Everyone is exhausted. We have all worked 6 days this week and finally our minds are starting to switch off and relax.

Paper hats are thrown in the garbage, we pack up our knives, punch out on the clock, grab our complimentary ice cold beer, and pile into the elevator to head back to our respective changing rooms and transform into everyday people in everyday clothes.

I pound my beer in the dressing room, thirstier than normal, and the alcohol hits me instantly. Dehydrated but happy (drunk) I leave with the other female chefs and we climb the stairs back up to the real world.

It’s 1 A.M and New York is quiet. The streets are covered with a thick blanket of pristine white snow. Not a single taxi in sight. The normal hustle and bustle of tourists and traffic in Times Square is silenced.

The ravioli cook picks up a handful of snow and starts to pack it into a ball while snowflakes fall lightly around the cooks exiting from the restaurant. He’s Southern Indian, I can’t imagine snow being a regular sight for him – nor is it for me. Other cooks take the cue and pack snow into hard balls.

I run for cover. Grab my iphone and distract the cooks from pelting me with snowballs with the suggestion that we take a photo instead – it’s the first snow of the season.

They bundle up for a quick photo then part for an afterwork beer. I’m too tired to join, and with no taxis in sight I walk through Times Square ankle deep in snow and head for the train station.

The snow is glittering with the reflection of all the enormous lighted billboards. The pavement looks like millions of tiny rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds. It’s beautiful.

I know tomorrow this snow cover will melt and turn black and messy but, for now, it is truly a New York winter wonderland…

34 Comments on "Le Bernardin: A Kitchen Winter Wonderland"

Bonne journée! I know you will keep us posted on your next adventure. In the meantime, enjoy the snow and cold! :> This morning, I saw my grape hyacinths and snowdrops poking their heads up through the dirt. They will be blooming in a few weeks. I love living in the PNW!!

To a Californian, like me, snow fall is always magical. Something you read about. But when you actually see it after the first fall – before people are complaining about shoveling it out of their driveways, and holding up traffic, and messing up their hair and wardrobes – it’s impossible to feel anything other than 5 years old.
The first impulse is to have a snow fight. The second to make a snow man, the third to pour a huge glass of red wine and watch the flakes fall from the comfort of a cozy apartment….

Yes, I initially grew up in the southern US, so snow was always a rare treat. Then I moved to New England and spent more years than I care to remember shoveling, scraping, frantically pumping the car brakes, freezing, shivering, looking/waiting/begging for *any* sign of spring, etc., etc. So now that I am in a place where 1) I can go visit snow any time of year less than 2 hours from my house and 2) have flowers blooming in my front yard in January, I’m about as close to nirvana as I expect to get and still be conscious. :>

Hi Chef!
First of all, congratulations on completing this part of your journey.
We’re certainly looking forward to hearing what comes next, though I’m rooting for you to open up your own place.
You could serve Yukon Gold wedge fries as a signature amuse. 😀

A great article about the big Times Square snowball fight:http://blog.ricecracker.net/2009/12/20/snowball-fight-times-square/
I’m sure whatever you do next you’ll be able to continue to entertain us with your fantastically vivid writing. I love the way I can picture exactly what is going on in your crazy kitchen.
Have you ever thought about going the private chef route? Fancy dinner parties and such? Though it wouldn’t have the esprit de corp of a restaurant…

Well written Amy….in fact very well written…I know there are tons of books out there…but you have chance of making a fortune with the best of them…maybe something to ponder about in 2010.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Amy,
I watched Ratatouille last night for the second time (I love animation). And I thought of you and your enthusiasm – not the female: the rat. There is no gift we can give ourselves more valuable or more difficult than passion for what we do. Don’t lose your passion, it’s easy to misplace
…and Merry Merry.
Kevin

AS always, your description of kitchen life is not only on the mark, but evocative and deliciously descriptive. Best of everything to you in 2010. I know the adventures of Amy will be most interesting, as all the possibilities sounded intriguing. Always a pleasure stopping by here, that I look forward to……

Glaze, Don’t look back girl. It’s your own kitchen and it’s calling out to you. With your youth and your enthusiasm… it is what you want it to be.
Basically start something and go from there. Something basic. Fish or beef. Affordable and attractive to the community you wish to serve and just sit back and make millions in time.
That is the dream girl. Forget the 75 dollar plates and cook for a segment of the people. Cook your food for yourself and be your own boss. I’d love to be in your place girl.
God Speed and don’t look back.

Luis – you are so dead on it’s not even funny…it’s time!!!
Patty – I could always use a trip to Canada! Some fresh air would do a world of good 😉
Marla – Thank YOU!!!
Kevin – Funny enough Pixar spent a long time in the last kitchen I worked in Paris studying French cooking culture and we were all treated to a private preview on the Champs Elysées! That movie is dear to my heart…the rat? Really! Me?!?! How cool… as long as I don’t remind you of the nasty chef!
Jeremy – Yes! I double that hooorah!!!
Margery – Thanks! I hope I live hope I the next adventure tops this last one.
Relle – I wrote a book when I left Paris and hope to spend some time now to finish it. Sometimes it takes a little bit of time to come back to an experience and really understand it – and finish it. Last chapter still up in the air…
Mark – Balance in the cooking world is part of the sacrifice and one that I’m not sure is sustainable over time. There has got to be a way to make work part of life, but not all of life…
Expat Stú – Same to you!!!!!!!! Bonne Année!!!!! It must be beautiful in Paris right now?!?!?
Lynda – Best wishes in the new year! I know this has been a tough year world wide and I have a feeling that 2010 will bring in a fresh perspective into all our lives.
John – Sink or swim baby! Sink or swimmmmmm!!!!
Christian – best of luck to YOU my friend and Happy New Years!
Wattacetti – Thank you for your long time support and believing in me thus far from Paris to NYC. I wish you and your beautiful missus a very merry Christmas and most joyous New Year. And yes, a new restaurant sounds tempting, very tempting…
Drago – Those pictures are amazing! Thank you so much for sharing the link and I hope that everyone checks them out. Incredible photos that waaaaay captured the snowfall on Times Square better than my little iphone.
Jerry – well now, I can’t write everything in one little post now can I?!?!? 😉
SAS – I like to visit snow. VISIT. I will never get used to being vitamin D deprived. NEVER!!!

Have you ever thought about going the private chef route? Fancy dinner parties and such? Though it wouldn’t have the esprit de corp of a restaurant…
Those pictures are amazing! Thank you so much for sharing the link and I hope that everyone checks them out.

Hello! I want to say thanks for an interesting site about a subject. I have had an interest in for a long time now. I have been lurking and reading the posts avidly so just wanted to express my thanks for providing me with some very good reading material. I look forward to more, and taking a more active part in the discussions here.